The Golden Eagle
by Taffia
Summary: A young colony in the west is threatened by an unfamiliar demonic horde. Can a reluctant hero of the Sword Coast put aside his past to embrace his destiny?
1. Chapter One: The Eastern Shore

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The Golden Eagle

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Faithful children of the god, go!

Leave this place in the halls of your past,

For a future ordained by Zaltec awaits.

Take your children by the hand, priest!

Lead them south to the valley of your future,

Where mighty destiny calls.

Now my children claim the world, all!

From their island in the sun they send their armies,

To gain the final glory for their god.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

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The couatl will come to let them know the way,

My feathered snake of wisdom and might;

My chosen daughter shall greet me on the shore,

Know her; she wears the Cloak of One Plume;

And the Ice of Summer, frozen under heat and fire,

Will prepare the path to my door.

She sat on the white sandy beach as she always had, arms wrapped casually about her bare knees with her fingers linked together. The gentle morning breeze played with strands of her slightly wavy black hair as the sun slowly rose before her, seemingly coming out of the vast ocean like a brilliant red flame. The sky went from a dusky blue to a golden yellow before much time had passed, and as it brightened, so did her smile, her full, mocha lips curling with pleasure.

Each morning was a treasure to her, more than the gold and cowry shell belt about her slim waist, more than the fine, white linens she wore, more than the rich coffee she knew would await her once she returned home for the first meal of the day, more still than the feathered cloak she proudly bore upon her shoulders. Every sunrise was unique and beautiful in its own right, and she never took a single one for granted.

Least of all this one.

Even as the sun was pulling free from its watery bed, another shape took form on the distant horizon. It was a tiny speck to her intelligent brown eyes, to be sure, but she knew almost immediately what it was. It was more of _them_. Since she was a small child, they had been coming, taking their produce and the works of their labour--and sometimes even a few or more of them, her own people--to wherever it was they came from. Some of them had metal bodies that shone brighter than the day. They would mention such names of gods that had never before been heard of. Helm was a particularly prominent one. She had always wondered who this 'Helm' was…and never could quite grasp at it.

The strangers claimed to come from a place called Faerûn, then mentioning more names of which Amn was the most popular. They offered gold and gems and other goods for whatever the people could provide them…even when the people, themselves, were what was being purchased.

Exehuatl had been too young to understand, then, but she was a woman, now, and knew better. These strangers thought themselves greater in some way, but they still obviously respected her people tremendously and even seemed to learn a thing or two after they'd decided to, as they put it, 'colonise'. She'd become fond of a good number of them over the years, realising that so many of the things they did they did because they'd made their lives in this Faerûn of theirs so horribly complex. They made it their business to claim all they could as their own, seeing that as the only way to gain proper prestige with themselves and their gods. They were just like the Nexala.

That group, who dwelled far to the south now, was warlike and fierce, feeling the only way to please their own pantheon was through blood sacrifice. The newcomers from Faerûn, of course, thought this barbaric and proceeded with conquest soon after their first arrival at no real choice of their own. The Nexala armies had given them no option but to fight. 

Exehuatl remembered those days…the days of the Golden Legion when a warrior by the name of Cordell landed on their shores where she now sat with five hundred men and beasts they called horses. That was all it took to crush a mighty empire. That and the aid of a Nexalan priestess who, when seeing that the strangers had landed at the cliff of Two Visages--hewn faces of a man and woman staring into the east--felt that this was the prime sign of the god Qotal's long-awaited return.

Exehuatl's nation of Payit had been the first to react to the new presence…and the first to, likewise, fall after a battle that merely lasted a single day. Not long after, a capital was made at the lagoon where Ulatos had once been proud. Helmsport, they called it, naming it after the patron god of those in the expedition. That was the first time the woman, who had then been a child, heard of that particular god, and it would not be the last.

Exehuatl's land was Maztica.

To her, it was just home.

Despite their obvious faults, though, she enjoyed talking to the strangers, learning all she could about other lands she could never hope to see. All the buying and selling matters aside, she loved it when new ships would arrive.

This ship was different, though.

Recently, unrest had been simmering further inland. Some of her people didn't like the Faerûnians at all and wanted them gone from their shores. More than some these days. The people who left in their strange ships never returned, no doubt sold as slaves on more than one black market. As Exehuatl saw it, those of her people that left chose to do so of their own free will, knowing that their absence was properly compensated for through the presence of the colonists and the extra gold and goods. She knew of others, though, that were not so well convinced.

Rumours were growing out of Nexal in the west that the ruined city still housed many horrors. Out of that demonic horde, a name had become known. Yamash, the people called him, a remnant of that foul cult called the Viperhand. He was half human and half orc, it was said, and now and again, he would leave the once-grand city and spread feelings of unrest through lies and deceit. The feudal system laid down by the people of Faerûn was crumbling faster than it could be fixed.

A revolt had begun in Maztica.

And the ship that was fast approaching, now, Exehuatl knew carried warriors of Faerûn intent on regaining the peace they'd worked hard at maintaining.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

Anomen Delryn stood at the stern of the ship, leaning on the railing as he watched where they had been vanish into the distance. He didn't care to see where they were headed. He'd become quite the wanderer in the past few months, beginning at the ultimate downfall of the one known as Jon Irenicus and his dark kin, Bodhi, and later the dark priestess of Bhaal, Amelyssan. Anomen had discovered shadows within him, then. Shadows and far worse…worse things that had him drawn intuitively and relentlessly like a moth to a flame, and, for better or worse, he felt that his heart would never forgive him for it.

__

She was Bhaalspawn, he scolded himself again for the he-lost-track-of-what-it-was time. _She's destined to become one of the most vile deities out there…or servant of one, at least…and there's nothing you can do about it. She'd only manage to make your soul blacker than what it has become._

Deep down, he knew that wasn't entirely true, but he chose to ignore that bit of his conscience. Helm still greatly favoured him, as did Torm and Tyr, and that was the most important matter of them all. On a personal scale, at least. Even as he watched the waves roll out from beneath the ship, small walls of water crashing together beyond the V-shaped pattern the ship left in its wake, he knew where it was his destiny was taking him this time. He was headed directly for Maztica, and the troubles brewing there, along with a handful of others, some paladins, most not. To them, it was a great adventure and duty to their homeland to restore the peace within the important trading location. To him, it was just another thing to do to keep his mind from dwelling too much upon the past.

As he continued to stare, the wind doing its best to tug free his shoulder-length honey brown hair from where it was bound behind his head, he absently fingered something hung from a length of cord about his neck. It wasn't the Ever-Watchful Eye of Helm that also hung at his throat. This was a simple ring made of gold and silver workings. It had once belonged to his sister, Moira, who had been cruelly murdered by a rival of the Delryn family. It had also belonged to someone else, someone just as dear to the knight, in the more recent past.

__

Bhaalspawn, his mind churned, his blue eyes narrowing almost bitterly at the retreating waves as if they were afraid of whatever wrath simmered in his heart. _And she's been taken from you…taken by the very gods themselves. You'll not be seeing her again, pompous fool. It was all a dream. Just a dream, a happy memory, and nothing more…._

Though, by Lathander's grace and Helm's will, I wish I had her back.

He shoved himself away from the railing in disgust, turning on his heel and clomping off along the deck to the bow where some of his fellow companions stood, watching the approaching shore. They were huddled in small groups, the more common folk watching and pointing and crying out with awe at so many things: a bird of such brilliant colours they had never seen, a bit of jungle here, a pod of dolphins there. The paladins and knights took note of seemingly more important things. The Two Visages kept the majority of the attention, the great faces, weathered yet imposing, staring out at them from a high cliff-face just beyond the white sand of the beach. There was more than just that, though.

"Look, Sir Anomen!" one of the younger fellows called out, tapping on the knight's armoured shoulder as he pointed excitedly to the shore. "They've even sent someone to greet us!"

Anomen peered out before them, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sunlight as he followed the lad's finger. A woman stood there, slender and dark and dressed in a shift of pure white with a magnificent cloak of feathers billowing from her squared shoulders. Even from this distance, he could tell that her dark eyes were focused directly upon them, but he felt no fear. This woman was not of the enemy.

She stood there, unmoving, as the ship neared the shoreline. Anomen couldn't think of why they weren't docking in Helmsport, but it was almost as if the crew was transfixed, the man at the helm making course directly for this strange, lone figure that seemed to await their arrival.

They beached the relatively small vessel and dropped anchor, making the rest of the way to shore in the longboat. No eyes were looking anywhere but at the woman, especially now that her features were so much clearer. She looked proud, not of personal merit, but just naturally as if she came from a people that had endured long and hard times and come out the better for it. Her slender hands were clasped loosely before a belt of round gold plates hung with cowry shells, and her wrists were cuffed in gold as well. From her neck hung a simple strand of tiny shells, and her black hair blew freely behind her straight back. Even as the longboat drew up upon the white sand, no one could move for what seemed like several minutes.

As if curious, the woman cocked her head to the side.

"More from beyond the Trackless Sea?" she said, her voice full but innocent-sounding. It was just as hypnotic as the rest of her and rang out clearly like it was the very voice of a god. "Have you come to aid your 'colony'?"

Anomen was the first to regain his senses, standing and stepping from the boat in as dignified a manner as he could, he approached her, going no nearer than within five paces. After that, the others soon followed suit, the crew seeing to it that the boat was safely out of the pull of the relentless waves.

"We have indeed come to restore the peace, good woman," Anomen said sincerely, bowing slightly as he felt this woman to be of some importance within the native population. "Amongst our numbers are Paladins and Knights of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, loyal servants of Helm, Torm and Tyr. I am Lord Anomen Delryn of Athkatla in Amn, the leader of this small expedition." 

The woman nodded a single time with apparent approval, though her facial expression never changed from a sort of blank look. Anomen couldn't help but shift uncomfortably under that intense stare.

"I am Exehuatl, Mistress of the Archives in Helmsport. Welcome, Lord Anomen and company, to Payit, ancient home of my people and friend to Faerûn. You've been expected."

With that, she turned her back to them and began to walk off southward to where bits of the city could be seen around a bend in the cliff. Slightly awe-stricken, the others began to follow with Anomen taking up the rear, his thoughts once more leaving the task at hand and drifting back miles and months to places he was trying to forget.


	2. Chapter Two: Lathander's Grace

He could remember her face, finely arched eyebrows furrowing together over vibrant blue-green eyes as they discerned how much use he'd be in the smokiness of the Copper Coronet. Her arms had been crossed sternly over her bosom, the soft rose colours of her cleric's robes only enhancing her fair features all the more, those eyes, her high cheekbones, her soft, full lips and long and lustrous, straight reddish hair. He'd known even then…known that she was special in more ways than one.

He could remember, too, her face that day when he'd first handed her a crimson rhodelia, her eyes closed and mouth smiling as she savoured the full bloom's intoxicatingly sweet fragrance. It had been the same when he'd given her the ring, too. Though, that time, her eyes had been happily locked with his, her smile broad, brief moments before she laughed with delight and threw her arms about him, showering him with kisses. He'd thought it could never have been better…not ever.

Her last expression, though, was what continued to haunt him. The Solar had come, presenting before her the ultimate decision--the choice between duty and her own desires and heart. She'd looked at him, then, long and with such emotion in those eyes. Never had she been in such obvious pain. He wanted to reach out, to envelop her in his arms and never let her go, to assure her that everything would be fine regardless. But, he knew that the choice was to be hers alone, and that look had told him exactly what it would be. He knew as much as anyone that duty always came first.

His very spirit had been sundered that day, watching her become ever so much more than she had really expected to be, three tears falling to the ground next to that golden ring that refused to leave the Prime Material Plane. The others had walked away, then, courteously leaving him to his agony, but because of that, they didn't see what he saw.

Where the tears had landed, three gems had formed: a rogue stone, a diamond and a sapphire. He picked them up along with Moira's ring and pocketed them, slowly following after the others after bidding goodbye to the greater force he could no longer see, choking back tears of his own. Ever since that moment, his heart never knew joy.

He walked the Realms as if in a trance, serving his god and his people fervently but hardly paying any attention to the renown it earned him. His travels took him as far north as Baldur's Gate, but he returned south soon after realising that the path he was walking had been walked before by someone else. Upon reaching Athkatla once more, the Council of Six and the Order had both begun recruiting for a campaign in Maztica. Hardly being in the city for more than an hour, he willingly volunteered. The colony was as good a way as any, he felt, to escape the pains that the Sword Coast refused to let him bury.

Before he left, however, he had the gems crafted into the handle of a mace, making the weapon a powerful tool in hands such as his. As with the Mace of Disruption, undead hardly stood a fighting chance against the Mace of Three Tears. It was strapped at his waist on his left, the Flail of Ages--complete with all five heads--firmly at his right. Never was he without either.

"I'm glad to see the Order has answered our pleas."

Anomen jerked his head up suddenly at the voice, oblivious to where he was thanks to his musings. Around him was a grand room, the floor of which was covered in lush carpets, the walls adorned with intricate, foreign mosaics. Before him was a desk with a strong man seated behind it, a man who had seen twice Anomen's years and was beginning to show it with the streaks of grey in his brown hair. Flanking him were two Amnish soldiers armed with pikes and clad in chain armour.

This was the man formerly known as Captain-General Cordell, the leader of the Golden Legion that had won over the entire nation of Maztica from the Payit coast in the east to the southern valleys where the Nexala now lived. All had fallen before the five hundred men of Faerûn joined by whatever armies they'd conquered, including the foul cult of the Viperhand that had been led by the fanatical priest of Zaltec, Patriarch Hoxitl. The battles ended with the loss of a bishop of Helm and the return of a long-lost benevolent god, the Feathered Serpent Qotal.

The Viperhand, however, had not been completely destroyed. They'd pulled back at the god's arrival and forever quibbled in the ruined city of Nexal, altered and misshapen by the pelting and unforgiving fires of the great volcano Zatal. Where once they had all been men, they were now orcs and trolls and ogres, horrible and beastly and never forgetting the wrongs done to them. That was where all the current troubles apparently began.

"Governor Cordell," the knight replied with a slight bow, at last taking note that only he and Exehuatl were in the room out of the group from the beach. "It is the Order's duty to uphold the doctrines of the gods that smile upon us." Despite his outward look, Anomen's words were one of habit rather than belief.

Cordell nodded, allowing a slight smile of satisfaction to appear through his thickly trimmed beard. "And to respond so quickly is an even greater blessing." He snapped his fingers over his shoulder and a Payit servant instantly appeared with a tray in his hands, a bottle of wine and two glasses situated upon it.

"Care for a drink?" the old general asked, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray and sitting them upon the desk before him.

"No, thank you," Anomen replied, holding up a polite hand as Cordell went to pour him some of the rich red liquid.

"Fair enough." Cordell filled his own glass and downed it in a few swallows. "I assume you've at least heard the latest news by this point. About Yamash."

"To be frank, I have not, sir."

Cordell looked curiously to Exehuatl who merely returned his gaze with that intense stare of hers. Even the governor could not bear it for long. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Anomen.

"Unlike us," he began, "the people of this land are not accustomed to orcs and trolls and the like ransacking their towns and villages at the drop of a cap. Our list of casualties has grown exponentially even since you left the port in Athkatla."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Sorry, yes, well it is your duty, Sir Anomen, to set the problem aright. Am I quite clear in that regard?" The old general's tone was almost cold, as if Anomen had been a disobedient child in the shadow of his father.

"Quite, sir." The knight's words were just as clipped and unfeeling. The general mood of the room was not about to tolerate friendliness of any sort. Anomen was still distant and Cordell was under a great deal of strain. Exehuatl was as mysterious to the lot as ever, and the guards just seemed like unliving suits of armour. All wanted to get this through with as soon as was feasible.

"Good," Cordell replied, filling another glass and draining it just as quickly. "You'll have my entire fighting force at your disposal, Eagle and Jaguar Knights included. The natives are even more insistent than we are that this threat is disposed of. You should have few problems with general morale."

Anomen gave a single nod in return. "That is suitable to my needs, sir."

"Exehuatl will take you to the barracks." With that, the old general nodded to the woman before turning back to the knight. "A pleasure, Sir Anomen. Again, you have our thanks, and may the grace of Helm shine upon you."

"So shall it be," Anomen replied mechanically before bowing and following Exehuatl out.

"Mistress of the Archives," he asked her absently after a minute or two of navigating the city streets, "yet you obey his commands like that servant boy. Why is this?"

"I have many duties," she replied simply. "And the archives are Cordell's archives. Technically, I am as much a servant of his as that boy, and I do not complain."

"Oh?"

She looked at him and nodded, for once, her eyes not nearly so piercing. "Yes. Cordell may be a fierce warrior and the defeater of our people with his Golden Legion, but he has been nothing but generous and good to us all these past two decades. We owe him much. The least we can do is help to maintain what he builds."

"Indeed…." His voice trailed off as he finally began to take in his surroundings. The city of Helmsport had become quite impressive over the years, those of Faerûn and Maztica surviving side by side with apparently little trouble…at least in this portion of the nation. He'd heard of discontent elsewhere thanks to the people's unfamiliarity with the eastern feudal system of governance, but it was nothing that had never been encountered in the past.

The buildings were quite grand, ingenious meshings of the east and the west into single constructions, large in scale and rich yet functional. The central plaza was massive and paved with a colourful mosaic of the Ever-Watchful Eye of Helm upon the typical silver gauntlet. Temples and villas surrounded the large open area that was filled with bodies scurrying about the open market. Temples to many different gods, in fact, not just Helm or those of the natives.

"Tell me, good woman," he said, struck by a sudden and unbidden thought. "Is there a temple to Lathander here?"

Exehuatl paused, looking about her quickly as if she really didn't know for certain. "Over there," she replied at last, pointing through the crowds to a low building with a domed roof of many bits of coloured glass.

Anomen nodded in response before they continued along the route predetermined by Cordell's command to go to the barracks. "Thank you…I was simply curious."

"Any wandering eye can find a temple of Helm," she said, then. "Every other building, it seems, is dedicated to him." She looked almost pointedly at the knight's amulet of the Watchful Eye. "If you're curious about Qotal, his temple is atop the pyramid. Any other gods we offer here, I doubt you'll have use for."

"Most likely," was the simple reply.

It wasn't much longer before they reached the barracks, the low building surrounded by men of armed service, most of which Anomen had arrived with. The young lord didn't pay too much attention to them, but within those thick stone walls, he had little choice. His fighting force wasn't at all what he was expecting. Certainly there were more than a few Helmites and other soldiers of the Sword Coast, but the majority appeared to be these Eagle and Jaguar Knights that Cordell had spoken of.

The Eagle Knights were obvious in their appearance. The men wore what they called pluma armour, which, in Anomen's eyes, was simply feathered breeches, bracers and a sorry excuse for a breastplate. They had beaked helmets that were richly plumed as well, and some even possessed rich cloaks simply covered in glorious feathers. What physical protection it all provided, the knight couldn't be certain, but he could not deny the fact that he was impressed. They were armed with what they called _macas_, flat clubs edged with sharp obsidian shards, and being on the wrong end of one had to be quite the savage experience. A few, however, carried bows and quivers of arrows with stone or copper tips, inefficient against even a greenhorn warrior of the Sword Coast but not against their present foe to the west and south.

The Jaguar Knights were just as easy to spot. Seemingly clad--in fact, they _were_--in the full skin of a slain jaguar, these men appeared naturally as if ready to slaughter the nearest thing to them that so much as breathed. They peered at Anomen warily, their brown faces shadowed by the fanged maw of their cat's-head helmets that seamlessly joined the rest of their pelt-like armour. They, too, were armed with _macas_, though as many, if not more, carried spears and clubs and other weapons of the warrior. Anomen more than concluded that there had to be some form of magic involved in the protection of these people, for their armour was little more than another layer of skin.

"For the Eagles, it's _pluma_," Exehuatl explained when he asked her about it. "It's the magic granted by Qotal, himself. For the Jaguars, _hishna_ protects them. Zaltec is their patron, though most do not worship him any longer if they ever did. All these warriors will serve you well, regardless, Lord Anomen. You can have no doubt about that."

"I hope you're right."

"I know I'm right."

Anomen let out a single grunt meant to pass as a chuckle at the woman's obvious confidence. He prayed that he could, indeed, trust her judgement.

"Sir Anomen!"

The knight turned at the salutation, smiling a bit when he saw a companion of his from the Order approach. "Sir Garren Snowfox," he returned, holding out his arms in friendly greeting. Garren grabbed heartily to them when he reached his captain.

"It's glad to see a bit of life back in your eyes, sir," the other admitted with a broad grin, black curls falling about his shoulders and framing a pleasant, blue-eyed face. "We were beginning to think you ready to turn to the strange charms of Ilmater or Loviatar."

Anomen actually did laugh at that. "No, my friend, no, though that would hardly surprise me in the least. I have not been myself of late, I will admit."

"Is there anything we can do for you?" The younger man's expression instantly drew into one of genuine concern. For the past several weeks, Anomen had become as a brother to him.

"I'm afraid not," the other replied with a slow shake of his head. "But I thank you, nonetheless. My troubles are for higher powers to assist with, and I pray that only they will."

Garren nodded in understanding, tugging at the white leather of one of his gloves to get it off in the heat of the area. In fact, all of his armour was white as his trademark. He came from up between Neverwinter and Icewind Dale, his family renowned for the skilled rangers and stalkers they produced. The Order was more than willing to accept the capable young Garren within their ranks not much later than they had Anomen.

"What is your first assignment for us, then, captain?"

Anomen pondered over the question briefly. Not remembering having been told anything by Cordell, he decided upon the best thing to do given the current situation.

"I want a team of scouts organised--mostly Eagle Knights, preferably, with a handful of Helmites and Jaguars to accompany them. I want them to glean as much information as they can about Yamash's current and future plans, for I have been told nothing which can only mean that Cordell doesn't know. Any suspicious activities are to be reported directly to me."

"Understood, sir," Garren acknowledged, dipping his head sharply. "Is that to be all."

"That is all."

Garren nodded one more time before striding off to let the involved parties know how things would be working, his feet never even making a sound.

The knight turned immediately to Exehuatl who had never left his side the whole while. "I'm going to explore and get my bearings for a time," he said simply, his tone implying quite clearly that he wanted to be alone. "If anyone needs to see me, tell them that I should be back shortly."

Exehuatl nodded in understanding. "I will make sure of it, Lord Anomen."

Anomen bowed, allowing a slight half-smile at the woman's unconditional obedience, and spun on his heel with a swirl of his long, yellow-ochre cloak and disappeared into the massive crowd that began just outside the door to the barracks.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

"This is…an odd thing that you ask of the Morninglord."

"Many apologies, but I simply must know."

"I will see what I can do, then. You are welcome to remain and pray if you so wish, Helmite, but I don't guarantee the answers that you desire."

"I understand."

"In all honesty, I'd think that Helm would be better suited to helping you…but since it is Lathander's aid that you seek, it should not be beyond his capabilities. I shall return before the sun has gone full course."

Anomen's eyes followed the priest intently before he settled himself before the altar, practically melting to his knees, dropping his head into his hands as his fingers raked his hair in long-bottled anguish. Tears spilled from his eyes in thin streams to fall upon the amulet of Helm that he bore at his throat, adding an extra sparkle to the silver and bronze metalworkings. He should have confronted all this head-on long before, but his heart and spirit had fallen into that state of denial. He'd almost had himself believing that the one who had mattered to him more than his own life had never existed.

__

Forgive me, Nailynn, he practically prayed, uttering her name--even in his own mind--for the first time in months. _But my heart, unlike yours, is still that of a human…of a mortal. It longs to see your face once again, to hear your melodious laughter, to know what it is like to be calmed by your wisdom and compassion once more. If only once more. Please, Nailynn…all I ask is for some sign that, in your godliness, you have not forgotten._

He looked up, then, his eyes still pained but now dry as he took in the shining alabaster edifice of Lathander, the god's arms held above his head where a glowing orb was situated, granting enough light for the entire large space.

__

She was a servant of yours, he turned his attentions to the patron god of the temple almost bitterly. _She was loyal and did her utmost to live by your dogmas regardless of the blood in her veins. Please, tell me that her soul is not now sullied…that she is **not** her father. She is Nailynn Herith, cleric to you and woman of tremendous merit in the eyes of all that is good. She is not her father…not her father._

He dropped his head back into his hands again, continuing to pray with more and more fervour until he'd almost completely forgotten that he was not praying to his own chosen deity. To him, however, that no longer mattered. His confidence in Helm was shaken, the foundations cracked since that day when he'd seen a woman who could have very well served the God of Watchers as easily and loyally as she served her own be consumed by the essence of the dead Bhaal and be taken completely away from him.

He did not know how much time had passed since he'd first knelt before the alter, but the priest eventually returned. Anomen sluggishly rose to his feet, his appearance now haggard as if he'd wandered the southern deserts for a good week. The servant of the Morninglord instantly looked worried.

"Are you all right, sir?" he asked cautiously, taking in the knight's tired, strained expression.

Anomen's words contradicted the shake of his head. "I'm fine. Have you managed any success?"

"Some," the priest replied, doing his best to lighten the mood. "This lady you spoke of is, indeed, a goddess albeit a new one. That, however, is all I could discover. Is it enough for the present?"

"It is enough," the knight lied tiredly, not willing to strain anyone's patience further with his own desires--let alone that of the gods. He reached into a pouch at his waist and produced a small handful of platinum pieces. "For your kindness and services, Keeper of the Morning. My thanks."

The priest took the coins and bowed, "For a servant of the Morninglord, it is no trouble, sir. I will continue to investigate the situation if you so wish. With time, I'm certain that I will be able to discover more."

Anomen nodded absently and turned to leave, "If it is, indeed, no trouble, I would greatly appreciate your assistance. Again…my thanks." And without further interaction, the knight left the temple, his heart filled with an empty despair that he felt he could never overcome.

"The others have been wondering about you, Lord Anomen."

He looked up at the voice, hardly surprised to find Exehuatl standing just outside the main entrance with an expectant look upon her face. Her eyes were ever as intense as before.

"You've been in there all day," she went on. "The governor is expecting you for the evening meal, and you should soon be late if you do not hurry."

"I'm afraid the governor will have to dine without me," Anomen replied tritely. "My energy is well and truly spent."

"So I can see, but that does not change the governor's wishes. To deny his courtesy and hospitality is held as an insult. He expects you at his right hand this evening and wishes to discuss with you plans of action. You are to come with me." With that, she turned and began to walk off across the plaza, which was much emptier now than it had been hours before.

Groaning but putting duty before desire, he followed the woman reluctantly, trying to forget his weary mind and body and the pain in his spirit.


	3. Chapter Three: Demons and Dreams

The dining room was crowded by the time Anomen and Exehuatl reached it, the tables that marched along the length of the massive, decorated room surrounded by Helmites, minor Faerûnian nobility and merchants and nearly just as many Mazticans. Huge golden and bronze platters laden with foods of all kinds spilled out of the kitchens, carried by white-garbed servants who swiftly and deftly moved amongst the tables to distribute their treasures. Chatter and laughter of all kinds echoed through the room making it seem as if Cordell had, indeed, achieved creating a utopia of the colony.

Anomen barely had an instant to take it all in, however, for Exehuatl was already moving gracefully through the masses, weaving her way toward the head table where the governor sat, two empty seats nearby him, one at his direct right, the other at his left and a seat away. The woman moved directly for the latter, leaving the seat of greatest esteem open for the knight's reluctant taking. Upon reaching it, he collapsed into its cushioned recesses whilst exhaling heavily through pursed lips. It was surprisingly comfortable for a dining chair…either that or he was simply too weary to come to a rational conclusion.

"By Helm's Fist, Lord Delryn," Cordell commented upon the knight's only slightly undignified arrival. "You look as if you've already been through an entire battle that consisted of yourself and three young wyverns." He immediately and cordially passed a flagon of rich, strong wine. "What in the nine hells happened?"

Anomen accepted the wine without complaint, pouring himself a gobletful and draining half of that before even beginning to respond.

"'Tis nothing," he said simply, nodding to a servant trying to offer him a leg joint of turkey. "Merely the strain of the journey and the length of the day catching up with me. I'll be fine once I get some food in me."

Cordell didn't seem convinced. "You're certain?" he prodded, concern creasing his forehead. The last thing he needed was to lose one of his already most valued battle priests to fatigue before the battles even began.

"I've been through worse under the Order and survived it. I'll be fine." In truth, though, he'd never been through worse strife even as his only remaining family had been taken from him. In his mind, however, now was not the time to be talking about how his health might be suffering or was suffering. Not with the vile corruption of the Viperhand loose upon the nations. "Has there been any new word from the border guards?"

"None," the governor stated flatly with a shake of his head before biting heartily into his own leg of meat. "Not even from the patrols on the highways. The lack of action makes me uneasy."

Anomen nodded. "I can understand, sir. I sent out a scouting band this morning. Hopefully, we should have some news within a few days."

"Hopefully. The sooner we can be fully rid of the Viperhand, the better I'll feel. The pains they caused me and my comrades are still fresh within my mind as if it were no more than a ten-day ago." The knight noticed the older man tense slightly and pause in his words as if reliving the horror of the bishop's cruel and blasphemous murder all over again. "Many praises to Helm that Zaltec has not the following he once did. If it may be permitted--thank Qotal."

The knight managed a sly grin despite his temperament. "I think it can be acceptable to thank other gods--even one so foreign. It was, indeed, a great thing you were able to accomplish when he finally arrived."

"Yes," Cordell agreed slowly. "And it was Helm's wrath at the passing of his most-prized priest that the Viperhand became what they now are. We should have quashed them when we had the chance…but they fled too quickly. It would have been most unwise to give chase."

"Indeed, it would have. The natives were then far too inexperienced with such creatures. Now, however, I hope our luck is different."

"It is. There have been several skirmishes between then and now. We've even gone to fallen Nexal itself on an occasion or two…guerrilla fighting with that mostly. There's no way you can get a proper force anywhere _near_ that location. The jungle has become far too overgrown. And, somehow, they've managed to match or outdo everything we throw at them."

"They serve a warrior god, Governor."

"They're orcs and trolls!"

"They were human once. Their current forms do nothing to hinder their intelligence. It just all manages to make them physically stronger."

Cordell gulped down his wine unceremoniously and poured more into his golden chalice. "That just gives us more reason to slaughter them as soon as we possibly can. Do you hear me, Lord Delryn? Slaughter. Before this season turns, I want none left in all of Maztica. I'm putting you in charge."

"You've already done that, sir, if I might be permitted to say."

"Not just of expeditions, Anomen. The whole of the army. Everything I have is yours to use as you see fit. The Order sent you because you're one of the very best they have--prove it."

"Then I'll need my rest," Anomen responded placidly as he rose, not impressed at more weight of command being thrust upon him. "If you'll excuse me, Governor, I must retire to my chambers and regain my strength. Good evening."

Cordell merely grunted in return and ordered more wine.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

__

It was the first time in a long while that he remembered dreaming. Almost as soon as he closed his eyes, he was enveloped in mists, white mists that soon parted to give way to something he recognised yet knew he had never seen before. He stood in the centre of a lush garden, the flowers and plants growing almost as if they were never tended by human hands, free to grow as tall or as wild as they wished. The fragrance of them all was practically overwhelming.

Once he'd gathered his bearings as best as he could, Anomen started forward, following a narrow cobbled path between the different terraces, stopping to admire the greenery now and again and wondering where within his subconscious his mind had found such a peaceful paradise. Birdsong came softly to his ears along the slight, warm breeze, and butterflies showed off their bright raiment as if they were the only things that truly mattered. He felt himself smile. A small, genuine smile.

"Ah! There you'se are! I'se been lookings **everywhere**!"

Anomen stiffened at that tiny, childlike voice. He knew it from somewhere. He'd heard it before, and it was all he could do to keep from laughing aloud at the very realisation of it. He chuckled heartily as he turned about to face the speaker.

"Looking for me, eh, Cespenar? And how is it that you've even managed to find me?"

"The master told me where to be lookings," the imp said cheerfully, beating his grey wings to stay aloft, his leathery skin shimmering with an odd protective power…most likely there to save him from his own 'recipes' as he called them. "She says we's be havings company soon. So, I'se been keeping watch, oh yes! Cespenar make good butler, yes?"

"Apparently so," the knight replied, only then noting where he must be as changed as it looked. The Pocket Plane…Nailynn's own personal escape from the Prime for those times when the evils and their hurts became just too great or another test was placed before her growing strengths. "Where is she?"

"Follow me! The master's not far!" And with that, the creature flew off, chittering with giggles as Anomen took long strides just to keep up. It was only then that he noticed he wasn't wearing his normal armour. He was wearing just what he'd fallen asleep in--a plain broadcloth tunic and his leather breeches--which meant that he wasn't really dreaming.

The imp lead him along weaving paths through the changed haven, the grotesque morbidity of the original completely gone in a place that looked almost as if Lathander and Chauntea both frequently spent time here. Soon, a white stone house came into view, bigger than a cottage yet somewhat smaller than some of the villas he'd seen in Helmsport. Its roof was tiled with cobalt, rose and emerald coloured glass as a temple of Lathander, and out front…out front were planted as many shrubs of the crimson rhodelia as the front of the house could sport.

The knight's heart grew ever more hopeful, and he rushed ahead to the gilded door at the end of the path, pushing it open abruptly and looking about inside. He found himself in the main foyer, a room that wasn't any more than nine feet square. The floor was tiled in a rose marble, and the sunset-hued walls were lined with sconces that contained glowing orbs of light. A doorway was directly opposite, leading to a hallway that looked much the same.

"Nailynn?" he called out almost tentatively.

"Yes?"

The voice came from behind. Startled, Anomen spun about only to see the woman standing just paces from him, a basket held in her arms that was brimming with flowers. Her face had never looked lovelier to him, her eyes shining with a new light and her smile soft and warm and welcoming. She was dressed in a simple gown of a deep rose with a cloak of an even darker shade draping from her shoulders to the path behind her. Her hair was loose, the auburn strands cascading to her waist to end in shining waves as if she'd had it all bound up earlier.

He was too stunned to move even though he'd had inklings since Cespenar's appearance that he would, finally, see the woman he'd once loved and lost. He finally managed to stumble out some form of response.

"You've…it's different. Your plane." Anomen tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it was a futile attempt. He ached to reach out and hold her, but such just wouldn't be appropriate. Not as far as a demi-god was concerned.

Her smile widened, exposing brilliantly white teeth that only managed to make her look lovelier still. Setting her basket upon a stone bench, she began to head toward one of the side paths.

"Come," she said lightly. "Walk with me."

Obediently, the knight followed, falling into step next to the woman as the path widened enough for the both of them. They took a leisurely pace, Anomen letting his spirit be calmed further by the atmosphere of the place, and for a long time, neither spoke at all.

"I'm not my father," Nailynn said at last, brushing her hand lazily over a long clump of lavendula. "I just want you to know that. I…I know it worries you."

Anomen offered her a smile, still restraining the urge to touch her, to even so much as grasp onto her small, slender hand. "I realised that the moment I found out where I was. Bhaal would"--he chuckled--"never approve of this."

She laughed as well. "Which is all for the better, I'm sure."

There was another awkward yet somehow comfortable silence. Anomen tried to think of something to say, but there were so many things all vying to be spoken that he just couldn't. The confusion of it all stopped him in his tracks. Nailynn paused as well and turned to regard him curiously.

"Is everything all right, Anomen?"

The man sighed heavily. "Why this dream, my lo…my lady? Why such pleasant torments?"

"You wanted to see me, didn't you? Did you not ask both me and Lathander for such a privilege?"

"I did, but I was more full of passion than rationality. Nailynn, we're so different, now. You're…what you are now, and I'm still what I've always been."

Her brow furrowed in a touch of confusion. "I'm hardly different," she replied. "A single step up from avatar barely changes anything…."

"But it keeps you from the Prime," he argued.

"You mean it keeps me from you," she corrected gently, stepping forward and resting a hand against his chest where his heart was.

No longer reluctant, Anomen placed both his hands over hers, gazing sadly down at her. Sadly but almost hopeful at the same time.

"But I've felt the same pains as you from the very outset," she went on, reaching her free hand up to the ring at his throat, "and have figured out a remedy."

Anomen's eyes grew wide with disbelief and even greater hope. Blinking rapidly, he looked earnestly at her. "How? What have you discovered, my love?" He didn't bother to be formal in the sudden elation he felt welling up within him.

Nailynn smiled again, covering the entire ring with her fingertips before closing her eyes. Moments later, Anomen felt power throbbing where the bit of jewellery hung, a warm, pale light also beginning to grow and pulse. Just as it had begun, however, it ceased, Nailynn looking up at him expectantly. Instinctly, he looked down to see what it was that she'd done. There, in place of the ring, was a gold disc as wide as a child's palm. Swirling clockwise around its edge were three individual teardrops coloured a cobalt blue. At the centre, as brilliant as ever there was, bloomed a crimson rhodelia.

"My standard," she explained simply. "As Helm has his gauntlet and Lathander has his sunrise, so I, too, have what I love the most. Well…nearly." With that, she stood on her toes and kissed him, her lips warm against his, and he welcomed it with a passion of his own. He cupped the back of her head in his hands as she moved in closer, sliding her arms about his shoulders, and neither had any intention to remember that there was more to the world than just them.

"It will let you pass between here and Toril in safety," she said soon after they finally parted. She traced the backs of her fingers along the side of his face. "When life in the service of Helm makes you weary…don't forget that I am here." She reached to kiss him once more before slowly pulling from the embrace.

"You'd best get back, however," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him back along the path. "You've still tremendous duties that await you. Perhaps, when the world has no need of you for a while, you can return. Here, even you can watch time leave you behind, for it does not pass in such realms as this." She looked to the sky, rose at the zenith and azure at the horizon. From there she discerned something that was completely lost on Anomen. "You must go, now. Cordell will need you. Go." She gave him one last swift kiss. "Cespenar will lead you to the Gate."

Anomen brushed a few strands of hair from her face. "I shall return, then," he replied brushing his lips against hers before following after the imp as he appeared, clinging to her hand as long as he was able. "Soon. As soon as I'm able."

Nailynn raised her hand in farewell, her melancholy smile the last thing he saw before he navigated a curve, the growth of vegetation concealing her entirely from view.

"Good-bye, my love. Until my duties cease."


	4. Chapter Four: Helm's Gaze

"My Lord, surely you are mistaken. This priest cannot be the saviour that you have summoned. He knows not who he even is, let alone what he must do."

****

Judge not so rashly, Daughter. The Helmite has greater support than you are aware.

"It makes little difference. He is but a man! A mortal! What can _he_ do against the wrath of Zaltec that still plagues us and only worsens?"

****

No! He is of the Blessed, and he _shall_ save my children from this despair spawned in Nexal's fall. More than one deity of his people has claimed him, and even he has yet to realise such has been established. Thus, I have chosen him, and thus, he shall bring about redemption and bliss for my children once more. As it was of old, so shall it be.

"Lord Qotal begins to sound as Helm. Tell me truly, can things ever be as they were with the colonists here? I do not grudge them their presence, for they have done us great service these past decades. But it still leaves me to wonder."

Change is always inevitable in such matters, Daughter, but peace shall be accomplished nonetheless. I have seen to it, and the deities of Faerûn refuse to grudge me this service. Worry not. These harsh trials of strength and patience will soon come to their end, and serenity shall make its abode here for an age and more.

"As my Lord dictates, so it will come to pass."

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

Exehuatl gracefully stood from where she had knelt before the oracle in the temple of Qotal, the Feathered Serpent. Her head and shoulders bent in a deep and reverent bow before she took her leave of the massive, gilded room atop the great pyramid just beyond the town centre of Helmsport. Descending the steep and shallow stone steps, she made her careful way back into the city entire, her dark eyes forever darting about in the early morning sunlight for a glinting of that bright yellow ochre cloak.

She saw it not, but as she neared the barracks, she caught a glimpse of a familiar profile standing proudly in the training yard. His arms were crossed over a smooth, bare chest, his lustrous hair pulled tightly back, and his legs clad in leather breeches and boots straight and locked and spread at shoulder width. He was watching the men, both of his land and Maztica, work on their drills and techniques with a piercing and stern look, his blue eyes narrowed discerningly.

"Keep them fast on their feet, Garren," he barked even as Exehuatl drew closer. "Normal vermin are difficult enough to defeat let alone those formerly human and blessed by a god of slaughter and war!"

Out upon the turf of the yard, a young man clad in a white tunic of linen still neatly tucked into white leather breeches nodded before continuing to spar with a bronze Jaguar Knight, lightly dancing his bare-footed way about the seasoned warrior and gaining more than one hit with his wooden staff. The Maztican warrior, in turn, angered with every strike until his wroth had him lashing out blindly in efforts to cease his opponent's nimble antics. Garren, however, was too well trained in the ways of the Order. He ducked the rain of blows easily enough and quickly spun out of the way entirely. The Jaguar Knight let loose a howl of anger and charged one last time. That move, despite all, was folly, for the ranger was ready. He tripped up the warrior and, though the latter did not fall, earned the winning blow with his staff. The idle Faerûnians and Eagle Knights cheered at the fair victory whilst the Jaguars fell back to try to figure upon what had happened.

"They're far from ready," Anomen grumbled, sensing Exehuatl beside him now but hardly bothering to acknowledge her presence via more than his words. "There are hardly enough from Amn and the Sword Coast to even consider trying to make a dent in the Viperhand's forces. We're going to need the Mazticans, and they've hardly a notion as to what they're up against. They're warriors, true…but ages behind."

"That's why you're here, Lord Anomen," the woman replied placidly, keeping a wary eye upon the easily vengeful Jaguars. "You and your men are familiar with the beasts that now plague us. You must teach us how they might be defeated. That is your task given you by the governor."

Anomen let forth a dry grunt. "Experience is the best way. However, your people must learn to defeat those that even the Viperhand fears not. All too often, they let their passions get the best of them too much to permit the needed rationality. That is yet their downfall."

"Oh? And you know how such passion might be quelled?" Her tone of voice held a hint of amusement that made it seem as if she, herself, was aware of every one of the knight's merits and flaws. Through Qotal, she knew almost that much.

He finally turned his eyes to her, his face stony and expressionless. Exehuatl caught a glint of sparkling gold at his throat far more bright than even that adorning the temple in the pyramid, but she couldn't see what it was around Anomen's toned, moderately muscular build.

"I might," the man replied tritely, his head nodding shallowly in an affirmative manner. "But that is of little consequence. What matters is that _they_ learn such."

"Indeed."

The pair maintained silence, then, simply watching--Exehuatl with amusement--as another Jaguar felt himself worthy enough to attempt to take on Garren's expertise. The ranger grinned broadly at the brown man's haughty approach and leaned jauntily against his quarterstaff. He lightly brushed a bit of his hair from his fair face and laughed aloud even as the sparring ensued.

"Anomen!" he cried out merrily as he quickly took the upper hand. "Why don't you try to teach these poor wretches a thing or two? Or fight me yourself! My limbs long to actually be tested in their weapon finesse!"

"If they can't learn from you," the cleric returned almost just as lightly, "there's naught they'll retain from me."

"Oh, come, come! Let's show them how the Viperhand will appear! Spar with me!" With that, he knocked his present opponent to the ground in fast defeat. The Faerûnians and Eagles let loose another cheer at the utter rashness of the Jaguars. Fierce warriors they all were, but they were still far from accustomed to the more strict styles of the Order.

Anomen sighed and shook his head with amused resignment, his glance connecting with Exehuatl's once more. She gave him a mysterious, playful grin and nodded a single time. Such a thing as this even she was anxious to see. Qotal had chosen this man for great purpose, and she wanted to view his capabilities with her own eyes before she would rest easy. The knight blinked with surprise at her reaction, but it made him accept the challenge all the more readily.

He turned and vanished through a door in the wall of the nearest wing of the barracks and returned with two wooden, practically harmless mock weapons: a mace and a ball and chain flail. When he came through the door, Exehuatl managed to get a look at the gold sparkle she'd noticed before. It was a medallion from the look of it but not the one most Helmites sported of the ever-Watchful Eye. This one was perfectly circular, blindingly golden with a pale silver outer-most border that was hardly noticeable. Three cobalt blue tears rimmed the inner circle and a blood red blossom occupied the very centre of it all. Exehuatl most certainly didn't recognise it. Despite its extreme brilliance and beauty, it as hung on a simple, worn leather cord making it all the more of a curiosity.

A Helmite without the marking of Helm somewhere on his person? Was this strange amulet the insignia of one of the other deities Qotal had mentioned as favouring the knight? Even as Anomen and Garren met in the fierce mock combat, the woman continued to mull over the new discovery.

The clacking of the wooden weapons meeting again and again echoed off the nearby buildings seemingly endlessly. It hadn't mattered how many fights Garren had just won, he was hardly tired, but Anomen was very easily his match. The day warmed quickly that morning, and the two were very soon both glistening with sweat in the bright sun. Anomen's mace and flail met with Garren's staff repeatedly, the chain eventually managing to wrap itself about the shaft, and the cleric pulled hard. The ranger gave a grunt as he struggled to hold onto his weapon, but eventually managed to pull it free, Anomen fuming and coming at him all the harder.

The two men danced about each other, the Eagle and Jaguar knights watching with intense interest as they tried to absorb as much of what they were seeing as possible, some even mimicking the combat with small movements. To Anomen, the fight was nothing outstanding as he had sparred with Garren many a time in the past, but they were more equals then than they had ever been. The ranger had greatly improved during the time Anomen had been absent, traipsing about the Sword Coast with Nailynn and the others, and the cleric was hard-pressed to keep the upper hand even in a fight-for-fun.

The onlookers soon began to shout and cheer, urging on one fighter or the other as they all got into the spirit of the display they were supposed to be observing as a sort of lesson. Anomen and Garren continued to swing their chosen weapons at each other, neither scoring more than a light bump on the other, and the former had to do his best to reign in his temper. At the rate they were going, they would both collapse from sheer exhaustion before one or the other won.

Completely without warning, Garren's eyes went as wide and fearful as those of a hunted deer, and he quickly backed out of the sparring altogether.

"Stop!" he cried, staring at Anomen as if he were suddenly no longer a man but an orc standing with mace and flail at the ready. "Stop!"

"Why?" Anomen asked him curiously, the mood of the past few minutes completely forgotten. "Is something wrong?"

Garren merely stared, eventually shaking his head rapidly and clearing his throat in order to reply. "Lord Anomen, it's…it's your eyes. They were--"

"Sir Anomen!"

The voice boomed out over the practice field and turned all heads there in its direction. There, striding over with a couple of Payit servants following quickly behind was General Cordell, armour glinting in the light of the clear day.

"What is this?" he demanded, motioning before him to the idle warriors gathered about Anomen and Garren. "They're supposed to be preparing for battle! Please, sir, explain this odd logic to me."

Anomen shrugged and handed his wooden weapons to Garren who quickly took them back into the barracks along with his quarterstaff. "We were merely teaching by example, general. The Jaguars, at the very least, didn't seem to be catching on nearly as quickly as they should have. Snowfox and I decided to set about another method for their benefit."

"I see," Cordell replied, obviously unimpressed. "Looked more like a spectacle for entertainment as far as I could tell."

"I assure you, general, it was not."

The governor simply returned Anomen's expressionless gaze with one of his own before snapping his fingers. An aged servant shuffled up next to him and placed a rolled bit of parchment into his awaiting hand.

"I've just received word from the scouts you'd sent out yesterday," he said plainly, handing the parchment to Anomen almost as soon as he had it himself. "There is Viperhand activity in the western jungles hardly leagues away from our borders. It's nothing that requires immediate confrontation, but it leaves me more than a trifle disturbed."

The priest gave his higher-up an odd look and proceeded to unroll the parchment, his stormy blue eyes running over the lines swiftly, his eyebrows going up in stifled alarm once he neared the end. Once finished, he cleared his throat timorously and handed the note back to Cordell.

"That's…charming to hear."

"Isn't it, though?" Cordell replied sarcastically. "The Viperhand making mass sacrifices is not one of the things we need right now. Even if it is the Green Folk…the more blood Zaltec receives in his honour makes him ever stronger. I don't have doubts that Helm won't be able to defeat him through us, but I would like to achieve this with as little loss of life as is manageable."

"I understand, sir, but you do realise that, with things as they currently stand, that's next to impossible. It'll be at least another ten-day of preparation before the Mazticans will be able to face any group of Viperhand vermin and come out even remotely victorious. Their style is still too old-fashioned to be very successful."

"That's what the other Helmites are here for." Cordell's voice was hard, and the cleric knew he wasn't going to like whatever he heard next. "And you have three days to put a decent fighting force together. I want this Viperhand crushed as soon as possible. And we cannot afford failure. That's what _you_ are here for, Lord Anomen."

"I understand, sir," Anomen repeated dryly with a shallow nod.

"Good." The governor took one more scrutinising look around through narrowed eyes, his gaze falling longest upon Exehuatl with a touch of curiosity, before he promptly turned and walked off briskly into the square, his servants rushing to keep up in his wake.

Anomen stared after Cordell's retreating form, his eyes holding a mixture of annoyance and concern. He _knew_ that the men wouldn't be ready for more than self-slaughter in three days…but the governor had given his commandment. And there was no going against it. With a heavy sigh, the priest flicked a bit of hair from his face that had fallen free of its binding and turned to address the large group of men that had grown quite silent since the general had arrived. Garren was still looking at him nervously, obviously still worrying over whatever it was that had made him react so strangely near the end of the mock combat. Anomen returned his glance with a raised eyebrow but said nothing as he headed back to stand before a wall of the barracks.

"You heard the governor," he barked over his shoulder to the Jaguar and Eagle Knights especially. "Each of you work with a Helmite and do your utmost to learn as much as you can from them. And, Helmites, do your best to teach by example, with patience and wisdom. We're restricted for time and must therefore be far more effective in our training. Begin!"

Exehuatl looked on for a moment or two as the men partnered up or gathered in small groups to begin a long and strenuous session of hacks and slashes. She knew that it was not her place to be there, and so she turned with her typical blank expression and walked back in the direction of the temple of Qotal. On her way out, however, she passed Garren Snowfox, his lips moving seemingly without sound. As she neared him, she picked up what it was that he was saying.

"His eyes…his eyes had gone bluer than cobalt. The eyes of Helm…."


	5. Chapter Five: The Herald

The sea seemed so much calmer on this side of it, glassy and vast without a wave crest in sight. It was an odd thing for any stretch of coastline, but it was known to happen time and again once the winter months faded away into the green growth of spring and summer. Storms were fewer. Trade was more common, and clouds left the sky well enough alone. The jungles and cliffs shaded Anomen from the western setting sun as he sat upon the white sandy beach, one leg stretched out before him with the other drawn up to his chest. He nursed the knuckles of his right hand, at least one more than just bruised and sore, as his eyes stared almost longingly out at the sea.

It was less than he expected, his task here. Though, he didn't rightly know what he _had_ been expecting. As far as he could tell, it had simply been one of those matters that needed done, and he had been the one available at the time to go and do it. The manor was entrusted into the hands of the Radiant Heart and the Council of Six, leaving him nothing material to worry about. Even his adventuring friends had found things to occupy themselves with that kept them more than busy, and perhaps, likewise, more than in a little bit of trouble.

Viconia, he'd heard word, had bumped into Drizzt Do'Urden on more than one occasion, the two bonding up to rid the Realms of whatever needed being rid of. As far as the lady cleric was concerned, that could range from a full-grown golden dragon to a drunkard who'd winked at her one too many a time. Anomen was awaiting further news that she'd wound herself up at a stake again ready to be burned alive. He had too much faith in Drizzt, however, to believe any such thing possible.

Haer'Dalis had wandered about just as the knight had, the two even partnering up on a journey or two until the tiefling simply _had_ to go and see what was of interest up beyond the Spine of the World. More than likely, he'd found more than his fair share of giants and barbarians, neither group waiting very long before giving the actor a wild run for his poetics. It was doubtful he'd gain much respect for his antics in that direction. The knight smirked at the thought that his old friend might very well end up here with him. It would be a nice alteration to plans, Haer'Dalis beyond useful in such matters as this with his knowledge of more than the Prime Material plane, but not a very probable one.

Sarevok…now, that was a face Anomen had seen only once and didn't really care to again. Nailynn's half brother by the way things seemed to filter through heated conversations and implied gestures, the mercenary, himself, had lost track of how many times he had died. Seriously. During the whole affairs with the Bhaalspawn the previous years, he and Anomen had been at the front ranks for the bulk of the encounters, earning cuts and scrapes and scars more than either deemed fit. And the priest had not bothered to count how many times he'd raised Sarevok back amongst the living in that accursed tower of Watcher's Keep. Seasoned warrior or no--and, in fact, one of the very best Anomen had ever seen--there are limits of what any one person can live up to. Sarevok's were tested time and time again.

Imoen, another half sibling of Nailynn's, was quite content to be human…fully human…at long last. Saddened at her sister's absence nearly as much as the knight had been, she'd gone north, settling down in Calimport to bother the very dickens out of every thieving guild there with one of her own. And not just that, she had the backing of the Shadow Thieves for leagues around and wasn't in the least bit afraid to utilise her connections to their fullest potential. Anomen smiled and laughed a little at the prospects of what chaos such an innocent soul could create, all the while just shrugging and saying, "Heya, it's just me--Imoen," as if there was nothing at all wrong. If Keldorn knew, he'd probably be writhing in his armour as if it were white hot against bare skin.

Anomen tried to think of other things, things that would get his mind off the past and back into the present where it belonged. However, such just wasn't to be. He couldn't help but loathe where he was and what it was he'd been assigned to do. The tasks given him had seemed simple at first, but after a full day of training in the yard the Eagle and Jaguar Knights had learned no more than they had known after rolling from beds that morning. The orcs and trolls and beast lords of the Viperhand would have their way with them, and there was nothing Anomen would be able to do but slam his face into his palm and shake his head. He could see it, now. Maztica would fall to the pinnacle of base corruption with it so alive and still young, its culture ancient and mystifying yet in desperate need of change if it wished to survive.

"Must you really be so elusive?"

The knight bit back a grumble at the familiar and haunting woman's voice. Turning his head slightly, he caught a glimpse of just enough white linen and brilliant feathered cloak to know that Exehuatl was standing just next to him.

"Must you feel it necessary to follow me about and record my every action?" was his trite reply. "With all respect, my lady, I do enjoy having a bit of privacy now and again."

"And you have had it," she said, sitting beside him without bothering to ask his permission. "A good few hours since you'd left the practice field, in fact. Cordell was wondering why you were absent from supper, and I was immediately sent to find you. I'm to tell you that he's coming to watch the training tomorrow as Garren gave him a…less than satisfactory report."

Anomen shrugged. "That's the thing with any Snowfox. You can always at least trust that they'll be blatantly honest with you regardless of anyone's dignity. I've always told him that it'll get him killed one of these days."

"Then he'll die the very noblest of men, I'm sure," Exehuatl replied. "Or one of the very noblest. It takes more courage to be noble with words than it does for thoughts or deeds. And it's a lesson that is not easily learned by any man."

"Must you always be so enigmatic?"

"No. Am I?"

"Perhaps that wasn't the word I was looking for." He idly tossed a seashell into the calm, darkening waters of the Trackless Sea, watching foam gather in the spot where it had gone down. "I think 'profound' is more like it. Madam, I don't believe that there has ever been a statement to fall from your lips that doesn't seem to carry any weighty significance whatsoever. Why is this?"

"It could partially be because I say nothing that does not need to be said…unlike so many people I've encountered in my lifetime. Your sort especially."

"And what's the other portion?"

"That, Helmite, is not for me to voice to you. Not yet."

"I see." He looked at her, eyes peering into the blank expression of her face as if he could somehow discern her thoughts straight from her emotionless state, but it just wasn't to be. She was as unreadable as a book written not only in another alphabet and language but upside-down and backwards. It irked him more than it should have, but he did his best to hide such from her constant and intense gaze.

They were quiet for a time, Anomen quite content to be left with his own thoughts once more with Exehuatl gazing out at the ocean with her knees curled against her chest, hands linked to her forearms. Her black hair brushed freely against her back and arms without a single binding to hold it back, and her cloak was soon sparkling with granules of sand as they were blown upon it by the slight sea breeze. 

Anomen looked just as he had all that day, just breeches and boots, though he had straightened his locks once more, pulling them back into their typical tail behind his head, and the insignia of Helm had joined Nailynn's standard at his throat. Force of habit for that last bit. To him, however, it seemed as if Helm had not answered a single one of his prayers since he'd been embraced into the order as a full-named knight months before the defeat of Irenicus some time previously. The gods had all seemed to abandon him after that--even Nailynn eventually, though her situation was quite different.

Exehuatl spoke up at last, her smooth, mellow voice annoying to the man's ears yet soothing enough at the same time.

"You should tend to those bruises," she said, nodding to his hands in particular. "Your fingers already begin to swell, and your shoulder must pain you something horrible."

Anomen rubbed absently at the greenish purple bruise that dominated his right shoulder, staring out at the sea and never once meeting his companion's gaze. "I've had worse," he stated plainly, "and survived well enough. A broken knuckle and sore shoulder haven't hindered me yet."

"Maybe, but you'll be so much better off with neither to worry about."

"They aren't worth wasting the healing magics and salves upon. I'll give each a good bathing in hot water and see myself off to bed in an hour or two. They'll be as good as new by morning."

Exehuatl's eyebrows rose and fell in an expression of indifference. "Indeed. After all, you're the warrior, not I. What do I know about the downfalls of having even one injured finger? I'm sure it's nothing that'll pain you long, nor anything that the Viperhand won't even think to take advantage of in the near future."

"I told you. There's no need to worry about it. I've fought dragons with worse wounds than this and come through as the victor."

"It never hurts to be prepared. Besides, the Viperhand are ruthless, taking advantage of every single weakness their foes might possess. The very last thing we need is our commander letting a swollen finger lose the battle for us all."

"I doubt it will ever come to such."

"My apologies, then. Just, by Qotal's feathers, go and see a priest about all that. I can tell even in this darkness that your finger is more than just swollen in pain. It's bleeding on the inside."

Anomen turned his hand to get a better look at the wound in question, holding it to his face to get a glimpse of what Exehuatl was talking about through the greys of twilight. It was, indeed, purple with blood, the bone badly aligned and finger stiff with numbness and lack of proper articulation. He sniffed indifferently and mumbled an incantation or two. Immediately, the bones reset themselves and the blood vanished. Even his shoulder returned to its normal, painless state without a mark left behind in proof that the bruise had ever existed.

"There," he said once the healing spell had completed. "Does this make the Mistress of the Archives content?"

"It does, Lord Anomen. Though, I won't bother to thank you. It was for your own good and not mine that I was so stubborn." She gracefully rose and began to walk off back in the direction of Helmsport. "And I doubt that it will be much longer before you understand exactly why such was important. If the men do not learn what they need to in order to defeat Yamash and his followers, we will have far less to hope for than we otherwise would."

Anomen let the grumble from earlier finally come forth through gritted teeth, him pushing himself up awkwardly from the sand to follow after her briskly retreating form. Brushing his breeches off along the way, he was beside her mere paces later, towering over her slighter form with an imperious expression.

"Madam, it is an army of orcs and trolls--"

"All of which had once been _men_, Lord Anomen," she spat back quickly before he even had a chance to fully voice his argument. "You said yourself only just earlier today that they would be a challenge to all if nothing else. They know our magics, our traditions. Nothing we can pit against them has even so much as made a dent in their forces."

"You are surrounded by warriors of Helm!"

"Who are as equally helpless as the rest of us save for a spell or two! Don't you think Cordell would have quashed this problem by now were it all so simple? Do you honestly think he's been idle all these years since his conquest, sitting in his palace drinking coffee and nibbling chocolate while Zaltec's fanatics raze his colony to the soil? No! He has been fighting, Helmite. Fighting! All this time, not a month goes by without more of your people and mine meeting their respective ends by the twisted mercy of the Viperhand! Being surrounded by the likes of you has done nothing but given Zaltec more hearts to feast upon!"

Her sudden anger was more than what Anomen had been expecting. Taken quite aback as it was at her uncharacteristic display of passion, he would have probably lost his footing entirely had there been more light to glint off the tears forming in her coal black eyes.

"And the governor has put his faith in you," she went on, one of her long and slender fingers viscously prodding him square in the chest. "He trusts you, thinks that there is something that _you_ can accomplish that no other man can. Why is this? How are you so different from any other being here?" She gave him a great shove, knocking him to his backside in the sand with one of his hands instantly clasping about the pendants at his throat, his eyes wide in shock and his breathing coming hard in unanticipated fear.

Exehuatl's voice lowered, then, the tone rich but rasping at the same time, sneering yet curious. "So I see. You put all your trust in symbols and ignorant deities, eyed gauntlets and pretty flowers--and for what? Your holy icons cannot save you…not against the Viperhand. Not against Zaltec. He will _feast_ upon the hearts of your gods and vomit them forth once more when he makes the True World his."

Anomen glowered up at her mercilessly. "You don't know what you're saying. Such blasphemies I've only ever heard once before and from fouler lips than yours!" He rose to his feet once more, a soft blue light peering at the Payit woman through slitted eyelids. "A priestess of murder--that's what she was. A woman of such cruelty-borne insanities that even the gods feared her coming to power…of her taking a throne that was not hers. And, now, you echo her very wroth with your own! Have you no faith in even Qotal--your own chosen deity? Are you so quick to abandon him for Zaltec with you in the service of the Feathered Serpent more than any? Don't deny such, madam, as I've seen how often you go to that temple in any one day! Only a priestess or a woman scorned would be so devout in her prayers and offerings, and you are most certainly not the latter."

"Associate me not with things that have nothing to do with me! With things that have no meaning beyond your own mind or your own world! Your horrors are your own. Leave me to mine!"

At that, Exehuatl's strength visibly fled her form, the woman wilting to her knees and brow pressing itself against the sandy terrain as sobs shook her body and tore at her throat. The brilliant blue of the priest's eyes faded away, the cobalt returning to the colour of a summer storm as his rage made way for overwhelming pity in a single instant. She was one of the strongest of women, he had noticed that straight off when she had come to meet them upon this very strand, and her sudden show of extreme emotion was something that left the man baffled beyond all reasonable belief. Something had broken her…and that something probably had little, if anything, to do with him directly. So he figured at any rate.

Kneeling beside her, Anomen reached a hand about her arm to raise her up, her doing her utmost to keep him from seeing the tears upon her face as she did all she could to calm herself alone. He brushed the tears away anyway, pulling her chin up so that she was looking right at him, right into very normal blue eyes.

"Please," she pleaded quietly, sniffling one last time as she tried to get her hands to aid in supporting herself against the dry sands beneath them, "please, don't tell me that Qotal has jaded himself to whatever the truth might be. Who is the other? Whose favour do you wear about your neck along with that of Helm?"

Anomen swallowed with effort, his tongue thick and dry within his mouth as he fought to claim words from his mind to answer the woman's unexpected question. Reflexively, he fingered the pendant at his throat, the gold metal catching what little light there was and reflecting it back tenfold.

"A goddess of lesser power," he replied at last, his voice not coming as smoothly as he'd like it. "New…and weak as far as deities go. She and I we…she was mortal not long ago and helped to cleanse the Realms of such loathsome foes. Her blood was tainted with immense power, though, and none of us truly saw or understood exactly what it was until too late." He reached behind his head and untied the leather cord holding the medallion in place, letting Exehuatl get a full view of it for the very first time.

"I had given her this very sort of flower once--a crimson rhodelia it's called. Its petals are the very shade of blood and its fragrance the scent of highest passion. The Lover's Blossom, some call it. The Warrior's Strength, still others. To us, it was a symbol of everything we both were, and a sweet indication of such love we held for one another."

"Your wife, then?" Exehuatl asked, finally calmed down for the most part, her typical emotionless nature returning. She traced a finger along the engraving of the flower, pausing at where the stem should have been.

Anomen shook his head. "No…not my wife. Not by law, at least, but we were to wed once the quest was completed. This medallion had been a ring only yesterday, the very ring I'd given her to mark our engagement. She turned it into this in what I thought to be a dream last night...her standard…the very symbol of our love.

"It was the Solar that set her duty before her, though. Once the vile priestess I'd mentioned just earlier was slain utterly, lying in a pool of her black blood in the very bowels of the earth, that divine emissary from the gods appeared and gave my lady the choice: to abandon her blood and live as a mortal, her very essence scattered to the winds of the planes so as to never be a harm to any again, or for her to embrace her destiny and take her place amidst those very deities she had served faithfully as a priestess or rejected as her purity demanded."

"She chose duty, then," Exehuatl interjected, looking up at Anomen's face curiously, trying to pick out which lines were from time and care and which were from the sadness of that very moment. All were from right then, she decided, knowing his brow to be smoother than any other man's--even one his age--save for the scar across his right eye.

The knight nodded shallowly, peering out at the now restless sea as the tide began to change.

"She knew she couldn't risk anyone like her siblings getting a hold of anything related to Bhaal--the evil god that had spawned her. And, somehow, she felt that the very essence that had made him so horrible could be turned into goodness and beauty, something that the people of the world could benefit from. In her mortal life, she had been a priestess of Lathander…."

"Hence why you sought out his temple."

"Indeed."

"And these tears?" the woman asked, returning their attentions to the amulet once more. "What are they there for?"

"Three tears she shed at our parting," Anomen replied. "Three drops of such infinite sadness that the ground would not absorb them. Instead, they were turned into jewels of highest value and adorn the handle of my mace. When struck, things of evil intent cannot hope to survive."

"If only there were more such weapons, then," Exehuatl said with a hint of respectful amusement. "Yamash wouldn't be able to stand against such a force." She pushed the amulet back to him, and he naturally tied it back around his throat.

"What of this goddess?" she went on. "From the sounds of things, she is still bound in some way to the earth…and could come to our aid if so asked. Couldn't she?"

Anomen made to shake his head but ended up pausing in uncertainty. "I really don't know," he replied. "I had always thought that the place for the gods was upon their respective planes save for the Time of Troubles when all save Helm had managed to become banished to Toril. Perhaps that's why my views are as they are. Helm is my patron god and has never set foot upon mortal soil. The others…a good deal of them had taken mortal hosts and returned to their places soon after. But because of Helm's situation I had thought--"

"That gods and mortals don't properly mix," Exehuatl finished earning a nod from the knight. "I'm sure you'd be surprised. Qotal would come to the earth often. In fact, he still does. Why should the greater powers not relish in their creations? Why should they not help their children when the latter is in dire need of protection? What is the domain of this goddess of yours?" The last was a slight change of subject, but Anomen took it in stride.

He shrugged. "She served a god of beauty and life and the sunrise as a mortal. I doubt that her current duties are far different."

"Life…. Where once there was murder, now there is its counterpart. Lord Anomen, you and this lady of yours are the keys to our salvation." She smiled warmly and stood, waiting for him to join her before she began walking toward the city again. "I insist that you seek her aid in this. Hers and that of Helm."


End file.
